


Freezerburnt

by SnowMercury



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-typical Suicidal Tendency, Desolation!Tim, Gen, S4 Finale Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowMercury/pseuds/SnowMercury
Summary: Tim becomes an avatar of the Desolation. Here’s what happens next.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Freezerburnt

“What a way to go about being remade. Don’t often get a lot of accidental avatars, for us.”

It hurt. His whole body ached, sensitive to the slightest chill, and it felt like everything he was touching had… Well. Either he was covered completely in old, cracked body paint, or it was- not even scar tissue yet, it wouldn’t be. Not unless he had been out for a lot longer than he’d expected. 

Not that he’d expected to only be ‘out’. 

He started to move, but flinched, freezing when the slight movement caused a ringing pain in his limbs, his being, down to his bones. He could almost feel cracks in  _ himself _ , and he wasn’t even sure he could lift himself up or really move at all. The worms had hurt, but- not to this extent. This felt deeper, somehow.

“Woah. Don’t start moving yet, not unless you want to lose bits. It reeks of the End in here, you’re definitely not healed enough to move. Should be fine in an hour or two though.”

Tim ground his teeth slightly, and his face would have made a disgusted expression if it could have- his teeth almost slid off of each other, like there wasn’t a hard bit on the outside of them. And did he still have all of them? He thought there was a gap or two- but even as he thought that, they  _ moved _ , filling the gap smoothly. 

“Eh, go back to sleep. I’ll invoice you what you owe me for not letting you die. I’ve got seniority you know, my time is more valuable.” 

_ I wish you had, _ Tim thinks, trembling from- from so many things that a succinct list simply couldn’t be made.  _ Maybe then I’d finally be free from all this _ .

And he finds himself falling, crumbling back into the dark. If he feels warmer with the slight heat coming from the direction of the stranger, he doesn’t notice it. All he feels is a chill, deep in his bones.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


It is hours later that he sits up. The stranger has left, but the air isn’t any colder. Not anymore. 

There are swaths of yellow police tape, bright golden ribbons heralding some new beginning. Capes of golden light flitter down through the holes in the theatre, dust and destruction leaving ash still flittering around, gruesomely festive confetti. Something is celebrating.

Tim does not celebrate. Not as he slowly stands up, half melted mannequins the room’s only party guest. He is slow, tired- confident. But not the confidence that comes with love and appreciation, no.

This is the confidence of a man who thought- who hoped he would be dead. 

The room is alight with swathes of warmth, decorated like a desolate party solely should be, and the guest of honor leaves the building.

He bets there wouldn’t have even been cake.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Everywhere he goes, he is cold. 

“Something isn’t right with him. He doesn’t have that- the fire that a Desolation avatar should.”

He’s cold at home. 

“Tim, what book do you think Jon would like to listen to next?”

The lights flicker, and the heater kicks on, despite it being midday and summer.

“I hope he’s alright.. He- I know this is weird, but he seems almost  _ cold _ , which is weird, right? For a Desolation avatar?”

He’s cold at work.  _ Work _ , like he actually works there. He doesn’t have a reason to be there. He doesn’t have a reason not to be, anymore.

“I didn’t think he would survive. Do you think… I hope he knows we’re here for him.”

He’s cold outside. The sunlight helps some. Not a lot. 

“We couldn’t even find his body, in the aftermath. I don’t know how he’s living, but it’s almost certainly sectioned.”

He’s cold inside. This, not much can help with. 

* * *

  
  


He leaves the Institute later. He hasn’t burned any of the pages, no. Some of them have fallen apart, though. He tries to go kayaking, up north. It doesn’t work; the river seems to slow down around him, like boating through molasses. 

Then he gets Jude Perry’s invoice. A cultist, sent to his cavern of a home, chilled and shivering. Tim watches when he leaves, feeling utterly fed up with this whole situation, but. But. You know what? 

His hand tightens on the door handle as the cultist leaves. You know what? There is something inside him. Something cold and shivering and sharp. A dagger of an icicle, sharpened and stabbing his heart. And you know what? He calls out to the person, a man, walking away. He catches up, gives a light smile, the first since he was dead. Not the first real one. And you might be inclined to take that to mean that he has smiled genuinely before, since his death, but no. No, this smile is fake, translucent, hidden intent stuck behind his teeth. 

Tim has a new purpose.  ~~ A new method. ~~ He knows what he has to do, bones cracking and stilted, clothes stiff and looking dusted. It is a grim determination that he has. 

  
  
  


He meets Jude Perry again only days later.

Her warmth is still there, still present. Her skin is still waxy and moldable- nothing like the solid, frozen fingers of his. Maybe it is the Leidenfrost Effect, that keeps his hand steady as he reaches forward, a grin-turned-snarl stuck on his face as he tears out her heart. 

He doesn’t live long after that. The heat and the cold do not mix. But he finds that it doesn’t matter that much to him either way. Tim Stoker, after all, died long ago. This person, he hadn’t been Tim. Didn’t feel like Tim. Didn’t want to be Tim. So to him, no, he wasn’t Tim Stoker. He just didn’t know how along ago he had died, and surely the right date wouldn’t be anywhere on his obituary. 

* * *

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost.

_ Some say the world will end in fire, _

_ Some say in ice. _

_ From what I’ve tasted of desire _

_ I hold with those who favor fire. _

_ But if it had to perish twice, _

_ I think I know enough of hate _

_ To say that for destruction ice _

_ Is also great _

_ And would suffice. _

* * *

...

Surprisingly, he wakes up again. 

The streetlights shine down on the road ahead, and there’s a blanket spread over him. 

He isn’t as cold, anymore. Jon is driving, and Martin is sitting in the other seat. Sitting- no, he’s sleeping. Dozing. But- and Tim realizes this in the low light, just noticing it- he’s holding Martin’s hand. 

“Jon?” 

Jon glances back, then to the road. “Oh, good. You’re awake. I’m- There’s a lot to catch you up on.” 

Tim sits up, slowly, pulling the blanket with him. He’s not sure, but he thinks he might recognize it. 

“I’m- I’m glad to see you, Tim.” Jon looks back at Tim through the rear-view mirror. The streetlights outside are getting less regular. “I thought- We all thought that- you were gone.” His hands worry away at the driver’s wheel. “Can you put on a seatbelt, please?”

Tim wordlessly does so, pulling the blanket further around him. It smells like tea.

“I wanted to say… I’m sorry, Tim. I’m sorry. I pushed you away, and I didn’t really realize until it was too late, and- enough with the excuses, I know. I’m sorry.”

Tim still feels a shard of cold in his heart. But, as he’s looking over at Jon, looking like he hadn’t slept in years, driving down the road with his hand in Martin’s, even in sleep.. He feels something melt in his heart, a bit. It gets a bit less cold. It gets a bit harder to see. “Thank you.” His words are quiet, only a bit louder than a whisper. It isn’t an ‘apology accepted’, not yet, but an ‘apology acknowledged’. It doesn’t fix everything. It doesn’t fix even a little bit. But it’s a start.

The drive to Scotland is a long one. But, Tim reflects, he’s feeling the most present that he has in a while. It isn’t all better, no, but. At least there’s this one thing. At least he doesn’t work for Elias anymore. At least he has an apology. At least he’s  _ there _ . He’ll just… Have to keep working at it. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i could NOT leave it at the robert frost poem so instead tim gets a happier ending. why? because he deserves it. he deserves to be able to heal. he! deserves! better!
> 
> edit; this is a desolation!tim critical zone and i typically work with a wavey interpretation of the fears


End file.
